This'll Never Work
by AerynSG1
Summary: Retirement, freedom. Now what?


"This'll Never Work"

By Aeryn

* * *

He waited for her, beer in hand, confident in the knowledge that they were both about to make the biggest mistake of their lives.  
  
It was ridiculous. He sighed. It had been six months since he'd retired and the ties that had bound them to each other while keeping them apart had been severed.  
  
Freedom, of a sort, he supposed.  
  
But instead of simply saying goodbye to the way things were and 'yeah, baby!' to the way things could be now they'd . . . panicked. Freaked out. He ignored her first few phone calls and after that she made it a point not to be around whenever Teal'c and Daniel planned some get-together.  
  
Why they decided to act this way, exactly, he wasn't sure, but it had reached absurd levels. They avoided each other if they saw one another at the grocery store, frog marching down opposite aisles and, on one occasion, he'd vaulted behind the meat counter while she hid her face in the feminine hygiene products. The store's surveillance tapes looked like an instructional video on "How to Use Tampons and T-Bones as Camouflage."  
  
He shook his head. It didn't make any sense. He WANTED to see her; he missed her – but whenever the opportunity to actually be in her company presented itself, he ran.  
  
They would never have gotten to this point if it hadn't been for Daniel and Teal'c. He scowled. He hated matchmakers and he knew when his match was being made. Teal'c had invited him and Daniel had invited her, neither telling the one that the other was going to be there, and before he could leap behind the bar to hide and before she could duck into the ladies' room and crawl out the window, they found themselves squashed up against each other in a booth in the corner.  
  
Her knee brushed up against his. And she smelled good.  
  
He asked her out. He was drunk, he told himself. She said yes. She must've been drunk, too, he reasoned. The day came and they called each other to cancel. He called back ten minutes later to see if they could reschedule. She said she found herself suddenly free that evening. He picked her up at eight.  
  
It was everything he'd expected. Awkward and uncomfortable. They couldn't even hold a decent conversation anymore. Protracted silences intermixed with long periods of quiet. Thirty minutes into things and he was desperate for escape. He wondered if he could make a get-away on the dessert cart.  
  
He fumbled for something to say and could come up with only one thing.  
  
"God, you look beautiful tonight."  
  
He must've looked as stupid as he felt, because she laughed. Long and hard, not one of those snorts or giggles she usually tried to smother. He felt like a complete moron, but he still couldn't help smiling, just a little bit. He hadn't heard that laugh in a long time.  
  
She smiled at him over her wineglass. "Thank you," she said. "Backatcha."  
  
Then she winked.  
  
He asked her out again. She said yes.  
  
The day came. They were both adults, he reasoned, they should just discuss . . . it. It being this thing that had sparked between them almost since the beginning. The thing that they had skirted around and pretended wasn't there, the thing felt but never discussed, except in the most indirect of terms. The thing, they'd both assumed, that would happen eventually, somehow. The thing they'd been anticipating, anticipating to the point that they started taking it for granted, and then they almost forgot about it and she found herself with another man and he found himself with a whole lot of nothing.  
  
Talk about it, he thought. That was the key.  
  
So, they talked. Well, he talked, she nodded. He talked a lot. His goal was to lower expectations. He wasn't as young as he used to be. He didn't even know if he WANTED 'it,' or so he told himself. So he talked and talked, and he did indeed lower any expectations to the point that there weren't any at all. He finally finished talking, feeling relieved and also tremendously afraid, and she sighed and nodded her agreement. "If you don't want to do this, that's fine," she said. "I'm okay with that. I guess I'll just go."  
  
She stood up to leave, pausing beside him where he sat at the end of the sofa.  
  
She leaned over and kissed him. He opened his mouth in surprise and she slid her tongue inside, kissing him thoroughly and for a very long time. He was just reaching for her, brain and body screaming "It! It! Yes, I want IT!" but she slipped away, murmuring goodbye as she left.  
  
Alone. Stunned. No 'it.' Crap.  
  
As soon as he got his breath back, he pulled out his cell phone. She said yes.  
  
And so it continued, over a period of weeks. He would talk himself out of it and she would agree and then she would do something or wear something or say something or sometimes, do nothing at all except just be Carter and he was in over his head yet again.  
  
He wasn't entirely sure why he was he acting this way. He wasn't exactly an expert at analyzing his feelings. The only two things he was sure of was that he wanted her, badly, and that he was scared.  
  
It hadn't been this way before. Before he retired, he knew what to do. Nothing. That was safer. Unrequited love. No risk of rejection. But, he thought, there had then been a huge risk that he'd lose her completely. He grimaced at the thought of Shanahan. Nice enough guy, he figured, but storming in and sweeping her away was not acceptable. Not to him, anyway. Of course, at the time, he couldn't tell Carter that; although he did go home after she'd showed him that fucking engagement ring and drank himself stupid.  
  
Way to go, O'Neill, he told himself. That's how we deal with these things in THIS man's Air Force. Whiskey!  
  
He groaned in embarrassment at the way he'd been acting the past few weeks. Reaching out to her and then telling her he didn't want her then calling her up ten minutes later begging her to come over. She must think he'd totally lost his mind. He had, he supposed. It was ridiculous that a man his age couldn't seem to deal with the situation. He was frantic, panicked and his knee hurt.  
  
He sighed. He was too old for this shit, he thought, even though he felt seventeen, emotionally at least, if not physically. And stupid. And scared. Especially now, and especially tonight.  
  
Tonight was supposed to be 'it.'  
  
He scowled and took a long swallow of beer. 'It.' It had been a long time since he'd done 'it.' Was he even still good at 'it?' Had he ever been? And he had actually had to plan 'it,' taking a little blue pill about an hour earlier, making a face as he did so and unable to look at himself in the mirror. Oh, his doctor had been kind enough, saying this happened to a lot of men his age. But he never thought it would happen to HIM. Damned humiliating.  
  
He jumped at the knock on the door. Shit. This was 'it,' he supposed.  
  
He opened the door and let her in.  
  
"This'll never work," he said by way of greeting. He tried not to notice the sheer black hose and high heels and very short skirt. "Would you like a beer?"  
  
She smothered a sigh. "Sure." She tilted her head and waited. They'd been through this before. She watched him as he went into the kitchen. He was barefooted, wearing faded Levi's and a worn denim shirt with half the buttons missing, offering teasing glimpses of his tanned chest. He hadn't cut his hair since retiring, and it was standing straight up. She imagined he'd been running his hands through it all day. And he hadn't bothered to shave.  
  
She set her jaw determinedly. He wasn't chasing her off tonight, now matter how much he thought he wanted to. Not when he was looking like THAT.  
  
He returned to the living room and handed her a beer. She took a sip and waited.  
  
He looked at her a long time. "This'll never work," he said again.  
  
"Why not?" she asked. She set down her beer and started taking off her clothes.  
  
"What are you doing?" he asked, backing away.  
  
"What does it look like I'm doing?" she said, flinging her blouse into a corner.  
  
Jesus, he thought. Black bra against pale skin.  
  
"This won't work!" he said frantically. She was taking her skirt off. "You know, I'm not good in bed and I don't have a big dick, in spite of what you may have heard!"  
  
She paused for a moment, staring at him. She hadn't heard any such thing but she thought it might be impolite to say so.  
  
"God, I actually just SAID that, didn't I?" He clapped his hands over his eyes and groaned.  
  
"Yeah, you sure did." The skirt was flung into another corner and she started advancing on him, clad only in bra, very short slip, stockings and heels.  
  
"Don't. You don't want me," he said, backing away. "I have to take Viagra, for Christ's sake!"  
  
She paused again. To her credit she didn't grin or laugh or make fun of him in any way.  
  
"Oh, GodDAMMIT!" he bellowed. "If you tell anybody that, I'll KILL you!"  
  
She ignored that remark and moved slowly toward him. He backed away. "Carter, stop, really, I don't think . . . it's just that . . . Jesus, you look good . . . no, don't!"  
  
She had him backed up against the couch. "Sit down, Jack," she said softly, and gave him a firm shove. He fell backward onto the couch with a plop and before he could move she was straddling his lap. She wrapped her arms around his neck and forced him to look at her. "Now, tell me what it is you're so afraid of," she said.  
  
His head fell back and he stared at the ceiling.  
  
"Jack, you just told me you have a small . . . dick."  
  
He glowered. "I didn't say it was SMALL, I said that it wasn't big." He was flushing. She'd never seen him this flustered. Or vulnerable. Something more was going on here than just a fear of commitment.  
  
She ran a hand through his hair, smoothing it down, and was pleased at the way he leaned into her hand and closed his eyes. She brought her hand to his cheek. "Why do you keep trying to chase me away?"  
  
He sighed.  
  
"Tell me," she insisted.  
  
He stared at her a long time. "You smell good," he said.  
  
She smiled. "Thank you. Now what's wrong?"  
  
He sighed. "I'm scared."  
  
"Of what?" She slipped one hand inside of his shirt and ran her palm over his chest.  
  
"I . . . uh . . . what was I saying?"  
  
"That you were scared."  
  
"Right, right . . ." He inhaled sharply as her hand slid across his chest. "Stop doing that, I can't concentrate."  
  
"Sorry, couldn't help myself." She smiled. He looked miserable. Her tone softened. "Just tell me, Jack. You should know by now you can trust me with anything."  
  
He grunted. "I'm twenty years older than you are."  
  
"Yeah, give or take. So what?"  
  
"I have to take Viagra."  
  
"So you said. Who cares?"  
  
"I don't know how to act around you anymore."  
  
"Act the way you used to act. Only with a lot more kissing." She grinned at the hint of a smile on his face.  
  
"Pete."  
  
She sighed. Still a sore spot for her; she hadn't handled that situation very well. "Jack, you'll remember that I broke things off with Pete not too long after you told us you were retiring."  
  
"Why?"  
  
"Why? There were a lot of reasons. One of them was you."  
  
He relaxed slightly.  
  
"Carter . . . we've been doing this . . . tap-dance for years now."  
  
"I know. Too long."  
  
"I mean, YEARS. Years of expectation and now the big moment, so to speak, is finally here and . . . that's a lot of pressure. Especially for a guy who's taking Viagra. And it's been so long . . ."  
  
"Afraid of disappointment?"  
  
"Of disappointing you, yeah."  
  
"Well, that goes both ways."  
  
He tilted his head and ran his fingers through her hair. "You're not gonna run off and leave me for some guy who doesn't have to take Viagra?"  
  
She snorted. "Will you stop it with the Viagra? I don't care. And I'm not going to run off for any reason."  
  
He looked at her suspiciously. "Why not?"  
  
"Because I love you, you dumbass."  
  
He sank more deeply into the couch. "Are you sure?" he whispered, eyes wide.  
  
"Yes! Do you think I would have put up with the way you've been acting the past couple of months if I weren't?"  
  
"I'm sorry, I just . . ."  
  
"I know. Now shut up and relax and let me kiss you."  
  
And she kissed him. Softly at first, teasingly, the barest brush of lips on lips. Then suddenly his hands were in her hair and he was pulling her in deeper, his tongue sliding against hers. Before she realized it she was grinding against him, begging him with the movement of her hips.  
  
She pulled away, gasping. "Last chance to back out or chase me off," she whispered.  
  
"Shut up," he ordered, sounding like his old self again, and pulled her closer, kissing her again.  
  
"Bedroom?" he whispered against her throat.  
  
"Good idea," she said softly.

* * *

He pulled her close, holding her tightly. His eyes were closed and his lips were just brushing hers. She wrapped her arms around his neck.  
  
"I'd forgotten," he whispered eventually.  
  
"Forgotten what?" she asked.  
  
"I'd forgotten what it's like to make love with someone . . . that you actually love." His eyes, black and wary, stared into hers.  
  
She burst into tears.  
  
He panicked. "What? I'm sorry, I take it back! Don't cry, no crying! I TOLD you this wouldn't work!"  
  
"Shut up," she said, still crying. She held him tight, sobbing into his shoulder.  
  
"Sam, what is it? What's wrong?" He'd fucked up somehow, he just knew it.  
  
"Nothing's wrong," she said, sniffling.  
  
"Then why are you crying? I can't stand it when you cry!"  
  
She sighed. "Did you mean that?"  
  
"Which part?"  
  
She glared.  
  
"That . . . I love you? Yes, I always have! Why would that make you cry?"  
  
She rolled over onto her side and propped her head in her hand. "Jack, I haven't had the . . . easiest time the past couple of years. I mean, I know none of us have but . . . it's just that after everything we've all been through . . ."  
  
He waited.  
  
"It's just nice to finally hear you say that, that's all. And you're NOT taking it back."  
  
He smiled slightly. "I wouldn't dream of it. Want me to say it again?"  
  
"Yes. Every day."  
  
"I love you."  
  
"I love you, too."  
  
"I love you more."  
  
"No, I love YOU more."  
  
"Okay, now we're gettin' mushy."  
  
"Nothing wrong with mushy, sweetiepants."  
  
"Whatever you say, my little honeypot."  
  
Snort. Sigh. "So is this the part where you kick me out and tell me what a horrible idea this was?"  
  
He glared. "Hell, no! If you walk out that door I'll never forgive you." He pouted.  
  
She smiled. "Just making sure, sweetums."  
  
"I do, however, draw the line at 'sweetums.'"  
  
"I knew you were lying about your dick."  
  
He flushed. "Shut up."  
  
She laughed.  
  
He hauled her into his arms and turned out the light. He buried his face in the back of her neck. She sighed in contentment.  
  
"Eight years," he murmured.  
  
"Indeed," she said, sounding a lot like Teal'c.  
  
"Was it worth the wait?"  
  
She smiled in the dark. "I would have waited forever. For this, I would have waited forever."  
  
He held her tighter. "Me, too."  
  
The End


End file.
